“Because they truly believe they themselves rule by divine right,” I deduced.
“It’s not the same thing. They really do rule by divine right. They were born to rule. But Torquemada schemed his way to his present position. Nor is he satisfied with that. The plan he is proposing to the King and Queen is so horrendous that a veritable river of blood will flow if he is successful. This year of Our Lord Fourteen Hundred and Ninety-Two could go down in history as a year of unbridled slaughter.”
The year 1492 would be remembered for something else entirely, but I saw no point in mentioning it to Dona Maria. Instead, I asked the obvious question. “What is Torquemada proposing?”
“Escalation.” Dona Maria told me in a word. “His greed for wealth and power knows no bounds. He proposes that all Moslems, Jews, Gypsies, and practitioners of witchcraft be put to the torch, or run out of the country. He says he wants only one religion in Spain. But he goes even further than that. Already, many Moors and Jews and others have converted to Christianity in order to stay alive. Now Torquemada seeks the Crown’s sanction to persecute these converts as false believers. And every day I see Their Majesties swayed more towards granting him permission to loose all-out persecutions. He has to be stopped. And that is why I appeal to you, Wica.”
“What can I do?”
“You are a demon summoned from the nether regions. I have seen you conjured with my own eyes. You have supernatural powers. I beg you to use them to stop Torquemada. The greatness that is Spain must not be lost to his lust for blood.”
Here it was again. Thousands upon thousands of innocent people would die during the Spanish Inquisition in the years beginning with 1492. I was being asked to stop that slaughter. Once more I was face to face with a pivotal point in history—a history of man’s inhumanity to man. Could I prevent the Spanish inquisition from exploding into wholesale carnage?
“I’ll do what I can,” I promised Doña Maria. “But to be honest I have no idea how to begin.”
“I do,” she told me. “I’m very close to Queen Isabella. She trusts me and believes me. When I tell her that you’re a genuine demon, she’ll accept my word. Then it will be up to you to influence her and the King.”
“Suppose she believes you and decides that’s a good reason to turn me over to Torquemada? After all, isn’t that what the Inquisition is all about? Isn’t it supposed to exorcise evil spirits?”
“There is a danger there,” Doña Maria admitted. “I think I can convince her that you are a beneficent spirit. But there’s always the chance that she’ll think I’ve been possessed by you. It’s just a chance we’ll have to take.” “What about the consequences?”
“We would both go to the stake. You would be burned as an evil spirit. I would be burned as a witch who has been possessed.”
“Does Queen Isabella know of your involvement in witchcraft?”
“Si. But she has kept my secret.”
“How come?” I wondered. “After all, if she buys the Inquisition . . .”
“Queen Isabella doesn’t believe in putting all her eggs in one basket. She is somewhat convinced that Torquemada points the way to heaven, but still she has enough doubt to hedge. She even encourages me to witchcraft because if that is true salvation, then she is sure of having a friend among the witches.”
“And do you believe witchcraft is true salvation?”
“Until tonight I had secret doubts. But since your manifestation, Wica, I can no longer doubt. I truly believe that you can save Spain from Torquemada.”
On that note, Doña Maria led me from the hidden plateau of the witches to a road up in the hills. There was a coach waiting there and the driver didn’t comment as we climbed aboard. Evidently he required no instructions as to our destination. As soon as we were inside, I heard the crack of his whip and soon we were galloping over a rather bumpy road.
We reached Madrid about an hour later. Shortly thereafter we entered the gates of the castle. The way the sentry bowed before the crest on the coach told me that Doña Maria must indeed be a person of some influence in the royal household.
We entered the premises to more bowing from the guards stationed there. Doña Maria led the way through the main hall and up the stairs. We entered a large, ornately furnished antechamber. She bade me sit down there and wait for her to summon me. Then she vanished through a door flanked by two more uniformed guards. They saluted her with their lances as she passed them.
I looked around me with casual interest. There were four guards in all. The other two were stationed just inside the doorway to the hall by which we’d entered. There was also another man waiting in the antechamber. I looked at him curiously.
He was a dumpy little fellow with a pot belly and a ridiculous fringe of hair around a balding pate that was reminiscent of Curly of the Three Stooges. I judged him to be around forty years old. His nervousness was apparent in the way he kept shuffling through the sheaf of charts and maps he clutched in his lap. He’d obviously dressed with care, but his garb was threadbare, almost shabby, and even though he slumped it stretched too tightly over his paunch. After a few moments of silence, the guards evidently decided it was safe to kid him in my presence. “Hey, Cristobal,” one of them jeered, “don’t you ever get tired sitting out here waiting to see the Queen? She’s never gonna agree to see you. Why don’t you just give up?”
“She’s my last hope,” the little man replied. “King John of Portugal refused to back my venture. After almost eight years of supplication, King Ferdinand turned me down. Only Queen Isabella can convince him to change his mind.”
“Why should she do that?” a second guard taunted. “You’re a crazy man, Cristobal, and everybody in Madrid knows it. And it’s lucky for you that you are. If you weren’t crazy, Torquemada would barbecue you for heresy. And you’d deserve it, going around telling everybody that the world is round.”
“The world is round.” The little man sighed patiently.
“Then how come people don’t fall off it?” a third guard demanded.
“People are falling off all the time,” I murmured.
“What was that?” The fourth guard peered at me.
“Nothing.” I outstared him.
“You still believe you can reach India by sailing in the opposite direction?” The fourth guard turned his attention back to the little man.
“Si!”
“You will sail right off the end of the earth,” the first guard sneered.
“If the earth was flat. that would be true. But it is round.”
“You know what’s wrong with you?” the second sentinel asked. “You’ve got a mammary complex, that’s what. You see everything shaped round like a booby. You were probably weaned too early.”
“At least my mother wasn’t flat-chested.” The little man showed a spark of anger.
“Don’t get smart now!” The third guard was hostile. “Just because you’re Italian and fanatic doesn’t mean you can insult a Spanish soldier.”
“I’m not fanatic!” the little man said, his voice rising fanatically, the light of a zealot shining from his eyes.
“Don’t get excited, Cristobal Colon. You’ll split your colon.” The fourth guard guffawed.
“And then you’ll only be a semi-co1on!” The first guard slapped his knee.
“And a half-assed one at that!” The second guard hee-hawed.
“My name is Cristoforo Colombo,” the little man protested stiflly.
“Maybe that’s what it is in Italian, but in Spanish it’s Colon,” the third guard told him. “And by the way, how’s your brother Spastic?”
I winced.
“My brother’s name is Bartholomew,” the little man said wearily. “And the world is round!”
“If the world is round, then why do you suppose that all the people in it think it’s flat?” the fourth guard asked reasonably. “Do you think they’re all mistaken? Do you think only you are right?”